


power and control

by Randomfandoms389



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Smut, USUK - Freeform, just a dash of emotional manipulation on Arthur's part, spadesverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomfandoms389/pseuds/Randomfandoms389
Summary: “I’m going to kill you when this is over,” Arthur hisses, acutely aware of the sweat dripping down his temples, the too-warm ache that throbbed between his legs.Alfred is a tease. Fortunately, Arthur has his own way of getting what he wants.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 147





	power and control

Alfred was a tease. 

This was hardly news, not after all the ridiculous, embarrassing situations that he’d dragged Arthur into over the course of their marriage (rounds of footsie under the dinner table that sometimes went just a _tad_ too far, persistent groping of his thigh that turned into spontaneous handjobs under the table in meetings, quickies in dark alcoves during balls after one too many lingering looks), but Arthur generally appreciated that trait more - or at least, hated it a little less - when he wasn't _halfway in bloody heat_ and being tortured by his own sodding husband. 

“I’m going to kill you when this is over,” Arthur hisses, acutely aware of the sweat dripping down his temples, the too-warm ache that throbbed between his legs. His tongue feels thick, clumsy for all that Arthur was court-trained, a proficient speaker in multiple languages. Alfred just hums, not fazed in the least, and goes on laying those tiny, stinging kisses all over his collarbone. He pins Arthur down easily when he tries to shove the - horrible, awful - excuse of an alpha off his person, nipping just a bit harder than necessary at the soft skin at the base of Arthur’s throat. He was going to leave marks, but then again, Alfred always left marks. 

Goddamned alphas. 

More of those little kisses, sloppier now, travelling up his neck, before Alfred startles him into a moan by biting down sharply on his ear and then going for the little spot just below it, the one that always made him weak in the knees. It’s becoming remarkably difficult to draw breath now, but Arthur blames it on Alfred’s weight over him, the warm, heavy body lying between his legs and pressing him into the mattress. Oh, and his impending heat, of course, couldn't forget that now. 

Arthur moans again, thighs twitching, as Alfred gropes his arse shamelessly with one broad palm, so tantalisingly close to where he wants - _needs_ \- to be touched the most. He can feel the warmth of that hand even through his boxers - the only shred of clothing he has on since Alfred had seen fit to divest him of everything else - which are rapidly becoming soaked through with slick and precome. Then Alfred touches a finger to his entrance, pressing teasingly through the damp fabric and Arthur can't help his whine, the desperate jerk of his hips, his fingers tightening in golden hair.

“ _Ah_ \- _Alfred_ ,” his voice comes out wrong, almost choked, all stumbling and slurred. His childhood tutors would have rapped him smartly over the knuckles for such a slip (- _Queens are articulate, child, eloquence is key, now stop slouching and sit up straight._ ) Here, Alfred rewards him with a kiss, on the lips this time, slow and sweeping as if he were trying to steal the very air from Arthur’s lungs. 

“Arthur,” Alfred says back against his lips and Arthur just _knows_ , even without opening his eyes, that the bastard is grinning at him, suffocatingly smug. That finger presses harder, rubbing at him in easy, languid circles and Arthur decides he doesn't care one whit. He just moans into Alfred’s mouth, arching into the contact as his husband teases him. “You smell so _good_ , babe. How’s that heat feeling, hm? Ready to beg yet?”

“ _Pre_ -heat, you fucking… oh, fuck. _Fuck_.” 

Alfred bites at the underside of his jaw, grinds against him and Arthur feels like he's falling, sinking into molasses and choking in his own need. His cock is _throbbing_. He recovers, snarls, “And I’m not some mindless little omega gagging for your cock, you absolute _bastard_.”

Lie. He’s aching for it and Alfred knows it. The evidence is staining the sheets below them after all, and those eyes are too bright and too blue and Arthur can't decide if he wants to claw them out or let himself drown in them. 

“Pre-heat,” Alfred concedes and then grins cockily. It makes something small and hot in Arthur quiver. “Does that mean you’ll beg when that heat sets in for real, then?”

“Fuck you, Jones.” He _would_ , Arthur knows, once lost in that all-consuming hormonal frenzy, but his heat has not yet begun in earnest. His mind is muddled, but still his own. 

“Jones- _Kirkland_ ,” Alfred says back, sickeningly sweet, then kisses his chin patronisingly and goes on fondling his arse. Arthur has half a mind to smack him, but what Alfred is doing to him down there feels too good to stop. He focuses on his breathing instead, laboured but regular, only hitching whenever Alfred decides to rock his hips down, grinding against Arthur’s trapped cock. Alfred himself is naked, all tanned skin and glorious heat, and Arthur is suddenly irrationally convinced that it’s a ploy, another calculated way to drive him mad. 

Then Alfred stops nuzzling Arthur’s neck, shifting down, and all the thoughts fly out of Arthur’s head entirely when his husband takes one stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking at it harshly enough that Arthur arches with a strangled cry. He's always been sensitive - even more so during his heats - and the sensation is almost overwhelming, sending sparks of pleasure along every nerve ending. 

He rakes his nails down that broad back like a wild thing, swearing breathlessly and writhing when Alfred bites him; sharp teeth closing around his flesh just hard enough for the pain to translate into pleasure. “Harder,” Arthur says anyway because he’s always liked a little pain and Alfred always delivers because he’s always liked to make Arthur lose control. Rough fingers close around his other nipple immediately and - _oh yes, yes please_ \- pinch. So hard it _hurts_ and Arthur moans, head falling back, panting shallowly as Alfred twists his wrist, rolling that nipple between his fingers and even digging a blunt nail into the tip. 

It’s almost enough to distract him from the clawing emptiness inside him, the insistent demand of his body for something more than teasing pressure at his entrance. But _almost_ was not enough, never enough, not for him, because w _hy settle when you could have more?_ Arthur feels almost feverish, trembling under Alfred’s familiar weight and _wanting_ so badly that he could have cried with frustration at being denied. 

Alfred wouldn't move on, he knows, not unless he _asked,_ because this was a waiting game now and Arthur wasn't going to last. Not at all, with that delirious cloying need slowly overtaking him. Alfred would fold the instant the heat began and the smell of it reached his nose, but Arthur would break long before that and he's still lucid enough to realise that much. 

Arthur is many things, but he's never been above exploiting weakness when he knows where it lies and Alfred has had one etched into his very heart with Arthur’s name on it from the very beginning. And he's desperate now ( _so very, very desperate)_ even if he’d sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it. So he tugs at the golden hair twisted around his fingers - lightly, as if he were too weak to do much more - and lets the tears fall. “Alfred, I can't _…_ ” 

His mate freezes in an instant, head snapping up and blue eyes going wide. “Arth-” 

Arthur cuts him off. He twists, pushing his body against Alfred’s and trying to smooth out all his sharp edges into something pliant and soft. Plaintive, even, because his husband is alpha through and through, and nothing cuts them to the quick more than distressed omega. “Alfred, I’m so _wet_ .” His husband makes a small, strangled sound and Arthur lets out a harsh, ragged sob that was only half-faked. “Dearest… i-it _hurts_.”

Hook, line and sinker. Alfred was too easy, really.

Arthur might have felt a bit bad at making such use of his husband’s hero complex. But then again, Alfred’s now tripping over himself, spluttering apologies and promises all at once, all _oh gods, sweetheart, I- I’m so sorry, let me -_

And then those boxers were being dragged off his hips, Arthur gasping at the sudden cool air against his cock and Alfred pressing fervid lips to all the skin he can reach, not a tease as much as an assurance, _I’ll take care of you now._

And he does, wrapping soft lips around Arthur’s cock and taking it into his mouth quickly enough that the trembling sob that slips out of Arthur’s throat is a real one. Not a single bit of artifice to it, because who could manage that in the face of such adoration? Alfred worships him with teeth and tongue and lips, has him reduced to a moaning mess even before two fingers are plunged inside him. They twist, scissoring apart, and Arthur gives a strangled whimper at the exquisite _stretch_ and _burn_ , his hips bucking involuntarily. 

Alfred lets him, even relaxes the muscles in his throat to accommodate him and then Arthur’s vision is going blurry as Alfred takes everything to the base and then _swallows_ around him. 

Again and again, even as he works those fingers in and out and in, pushing and probing until they find the little bundle of nerves deep inside that make Arthur _scream_ . He’s only distantly aware of how goddamned _loud_ he was being as he climaxes, the orgasm tearing through him and leaving him spent and shaking, sprawled out loosely on the bed and mewling as Alfred milks his cock for every drop of his spend. 

He only watches dazedly when his husband releases his now-limp cock with an obscene sound, straightening to rake dark blue eyes all over him, lingering at all the places Arthur supposes must be made reddened and mottled by Alfred’s earlier attentions. He’s high enough on the endorphins that he can admit he quite likes the possessiveness in the gesture, the inherent claim, unnecessary as it was.

But best of all, the aching need has finally, blessedly subsided. It’ll be back soon enough, of course, even more intensely as his heat draws ever nearer, but for now, Arthur just basks in the heady afterglow. Alfred settles half on top of him, his cock a searing brand against Arthur’s thigh that he's too tired to address. 

Later, he supposes and is then distracted by Alfred’s sudden groan. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Mhm?” 

“You _played_ me.” It’s said with almost comical outrage.

Ah. The dawning of realisation. “Like a fiddle,” he admits sleepily and then adds, “Took you long enough.”

Alfred gives a wordless growl of… frustration? Grudging amusement? Arthur just breathes in his husband’s scent, too sated to bother deciphering it, and doesn't even complain when Alfred bites him at the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

He’s mumbling rather grumpily under his breath, something like _“... ‘should just tie you up and fucking leave you here, see how honest you are when you’re crying for me then -_ ” 

Oh, Alfred. Arthur drops a kiss into the tousled blond hair tickling his chin, an unbidden smile tugging at his lips. “You should,” he confides, like a secret, because he's almost drunk on the light, frothing warmth building in his chest and Alfred is adorable when he’s sulking. “It might be the only way to _really_ make me beg.”

Alfred won't, though. Arthur’s certain of that. He's too sweet for that, too eager to please, no matter how hard he tries.

That’ll make it all the better when Arthur finally drives him to it, teases and toys until his husband _snaps_ and brings Arthur to his knees. 

He couldn't wait.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this month has been a mess but hey, I wrote like 4 fics in a week and at this point, I'll just take what I can get.


End file.
